The 'Unfortunate' Fate of Bilbo Baggins
by RAW-SYNTH3TICA
Summary: At the end of their journey, Bilbo is confronted with an odd conversation with Thorin - it simply gets worse & better all the same after learning of What they speak of.


Bilbo Baggins/Thoren Oakenshield

Of Journey's End

With the day done and all where unrest was rampant had been quenched of chaos, Bilbo alas rested his weary head against Thorin's shield, his body snuggling deeply into the dust settled about the ground, his breath uneasy as he held his right arm tightly to himself, the fingers of his right arm pressing upon the smooth gold of his hidden ring withheld inside his coat pocket. Many a thing was to be worried of, but Bilbo found himself in a trance lulled to him by the whispery call of the ring, the soothing wind through many tongues foreign and ancient, too old that he knew it felt rather strange that he understood the forbidden pleasure, the terrifying thrill he took from overlooking his hunger and fatigue, all vital needs in order to feel the tiny circlet warming his hands. A calmed hush fell over his uncertainty, sensing a shift in occupancy, Bilbo glanced up from his curled position on the floor, he instantly snatched his hand away from his coat as Thorin stood over the threshold merely watching as Bilbo fumbled through the filthy empty coats and clothing they had gone a whole journey through.

Wordlessly, Thorin held out his hand towards his traveling companion whom thought nothing of hoisting himself up and possibly being pulled into one of the numerous halls of Erebor where cacophonous laughter could be heard, the dwarf cousins laughing and toasting ale upon a warm fire, Bilbo merely followed, passing the warm hall while the roasting spit crackled merrily and the dwarves danced for their victory against all daunting odds. His hobbit feet plodded alongside Thorin's heavy strides, their steps a whittled echo synchronizing through the winding stone stairways and hollow walkways tying the Lonely Mountain's ceiling to the root and heart where dwarf's gold seemed as if to blush in the dim firelight of the occasional torch burning through the vast space between the walls and dusty checkpoints. Bilbo felt as if he was in for a scolding being that Thorin was so uncharacteristically silent through their merrymaking, possibly being that they had not found the Arkenstone nor avenged themselves from Azog the Defiler as of late, yet he held a dim glimmer of hope that he would be able to scamper back to the Shire lest he found himself comfortably in the mouth of Smaug as an impromptu poet and edible jester.

The air grew thick, the ground became slightly damp and warm the further down they trod, the mountain's emerald pathways glistering with the earth's sweat, he opened his mouth several times in the process to ask where they were going, why they had gone so far away from their dwarf-company, and the general silliness his Bag-end mind could barely fathom for their being just the two of them in a labyrinth of hidden dangers and mortal hazards. All worries melted away the moment he saw unveiled before him a bubbling natural spring contained within the carved forms of a large boiling pot-like stoneware set beneath a gently tricking falls of gleaming stone, Bilbo turned to Thorin in order to thank him but was met with a back receding into the shadows, his thanks went unheard as he tentatively stripped for the first time ever since the beginning of their journey, he appreciated the heat enclosing around him comfortingly like a long lost friend. His body eased into the water and he bathed long and thought of ways best he could get back to the Shire, into his beloved comfortable Hobbit hole, though the journey was not yet complete, he thought that he had done his duty well enough that he was no longer needed if the company of dwarves could handle another day with his usual little Hobbit ways, something akin to what others called complaints or too-loud exchanges of opinion, though the gesture was rude, Bilbo had no qualms of being sent home without the others, he was perfectly compliant if he were suddenly expelled from the bejeweled depths of Thorin's dwarvish kingdom.

The simple comforts of home beckoned to him, his perfect little tea cozies from atop his dustless cupboards, his unlit hearth promising unending warmth at the seat of his stuffed armchair, his crisp changes of clothing laying neatly in their respective drawers and an armoir spilling with immaculate quilts, lastly was the thought of his regular tea and cakes next to his pipe and tobacco for thoughts which may have made the day a pleasant existence in his beloved Shire. Being that the second nicest, yet not at all very enjoyable situation he would have dreamed long of imagining himself in was merely traveling alongside Thorin and the brave lot of dwarvish kin, he did not at all mind that he was both scared half to his grave and continuing to do so – the notion was rather morbid, and still in his mind, whom would have honestly pulled Bilbo Baggins of Bag-end aside and proclaimed their undying trust in his quite plain sort of curious bravery? None needed their lives saved in the relative naivete of the Shire, surely there was no risk in eating too much tea biscuits or ingesting too much of the merrytime mead, his lifesaving talents would have been probably utilized on burping hobbit children and pushing truffle-raged swine away from biting their owner's hands, the contrast between his life now and then seemed at all very trivial and arbitrary as he had reasoned.

His fingers found a wash rag as he began a task of one of the amenities he had once enjoyed, he pulled the wet rag along his body, scrubbing thoroughly from his feet to the behind of his ears, he lastly dipped his head under and pulled bits of rock from his shaggy locks, he lastly picked and scrubbed at the tips of his fingers, pulling even more dirt from beneath his fingernails as he went. His peace interrupted the moment he lay eyes on another pair at the vast lip of the tub, Bilbo shifted uncomfortably beneath the steaming water, the rag dropping into the pool, his mind lay in shambles as he began to stutter out whatever came to mind, but Thorin held up a calming hand to silence the forming of words which would not come to him coherently as he would have preferred. Thorin strode to Bilbo's side, reached into the water, and brushing his hand against the half-hard appendage nestled between the hobbit's legs, unshaken, Thorin simply pulled the wash rag and wrung out the water, Bilbo found that within his time traveling the dwarves that they did not much like getting wet or the thought of bathing, but after a few nervous silent heartbeats, he changed his mind about dwarves being a folk whom avoided a much-needed washing.

"T-th-there-!" Bilbo gasped, his legs jerked wildly as his chin twitched in pure bliss, he shivered uncontrollably in Thorin's gentle grip, he opened one eye as water cascaded over his scalp and over his shoulders, Thorin again began massaging a scented lather into his hair.

Oh, how Bilbo missed soap and its cleanliness, he was prompted to lay his head back as his arms were spread along the tub's golden lip, Thorin's hands began kneading his muscles, melting all his aches and tensions away the longer he sat half-submerged, his entire body warmed and heated beneath Thorin's touch, he nearly fell beneath the scented waters when his feet were being scrubbed by a rough stone and massaged, earning a deep chuckle from Thorin. By the time he was nearly asleep and relaxed to his core, he felt a tentative press to his lips, his eyes shot open only to flutter briefly as Thorin pulled back and observed him, the little voice in Bilbo's head squeaked to life and began explaining how much trouble it would be if he were even considered more than pairing-material to a Dwarf-King, on the side of it being irrational, he would most likely be unable to cope with his life being so full of questions and so few answers, muchless the ordinary always at the ready of sure routine interruption. True, they were both comrades and friends, but he had never once considered marrying or officially taking a hobbit woman or man through the days of idling and chasing after children if ever they could manage the first dozen, he grew ill at ease realizing that he was thinking too far past Thorin's own feelings of marriage or starting a family, or if he would forgo the familiarity of a dwarf as a wife for a hobbit whom was neither brawny, impulse-fond nor stubborn, thank goodness he was no Sackville-Baggins for the likes of being more like Lobelia in her rude, nose up-stuck ways.

He by this time turned around to face Thorin from inside the pool and began flittering through his for an emotion preferable to his initial alarm, "F-forgive me, Thorin, but I'm a little confused-"

"What of am I being unclear, Bilbo?" Thorin brushed a finger through Bilbo's damp hair and twisted a lock idly.

"Of a business which I, or We for a fact, have tried discussing?" Bilbo heard his cleaned ears squeaking against Thorin's fingers, he appreciated the thoroughness in which he was bathed and massaged, he again shook himself out of revere so as to concentrate on their conversation, "What am I to you, Thorin? Just so that I may be a little less in shock of...uh, your...my...this...our...arrangement, if we have one indeed."

"You are a hobbit, master Baggins," Thorin said, Bilbo nodded as if expecting no more of a explanation being that he was unsatisfied yet not disagreeing with the obscure answer given, his eyes shot from the steam to Thorin as his ear was brushed, "I am a dwarf much in need of trust, friendship and companionship. And where might I find such a match for all of those allotted things for which I, a dwarf-king of Erebor, have asked?"

"Am I supposed to know Where you meet a dwarf – if in fact you are referring to a Dwarf such as yourself, or an elf such as Kili has done, or a human – whomever or whatever strikes your fancy from where ever...because you are now King Thorin..." Bilbo stroked his chin all the while wondering if Thorin frequented either the countryside or taverns for such sorts of night pleasures, he shook his head dislodging Thorin's finger from his hair, "No, no, no, I do not understand what you are asking, Thorin...er, your Highness."

"I care neither for stature nor personal disposition, Bilbo," Thorin stooped lower to Bilbo's level, finding nothing but uncertainty and doubt within Bilbo's wide blue eyes, he stroked the hobbit's slight shoulders, conveying his utmost attention to persuading Bilbo and convincing himself that indeed, his search for his match had also come to an end, "Only that my lonely hands may hold my equal and that my weary heart may find peace in my days as Ruler of Erebor, as much as I ask, I only wish that I may share what I am with you, burglar."

"But why someone so simple and plain as me? Anyone and anything you want is at your disposal and it surely can't be someone so ordinary and odd," Bilbo unwittingly wrinkled his nose at the thought of calling himself odd, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he unknowingly drew closer to Thorin.

"Yet, it is all I want, Bilbo," Thorin pressed toward Bilbo, searching his face, and again turning up a lost gaze upon himself, "You have given me everything I yearned for since Smaug plundered my father Thror's kingdom; you have restored unto me my home, my throne, my life, my honor, my faith and hope – why can I not also desire the source reason for all which I suffer gratefully upon my soul?"

"Again, your Highness, I don't understand," Bilbo's eyebrows knit together, as if both worried and breathless for Thorin's words reaching blindly like hands in the dark of unseen despair.

"If only you understood Smaug's madness for gold that you may in the slightest realize what I am feeling," Thorin brushed a hand along Bilbo's cheek; for hands that forged both power and beauty from the hottest of coals and the coldest of metals and unpolished stone, his touch was quite soft as if handling a brittle thread of gold, Bilbo held his breath, "I love and covet you with the same infuriating intensity and defeat as Smaug bore for the decades he had slept undisturbed in Erebor's riches. The Arkenstone was not stolen, Bilbo, and were I to guard myself as I had done for so long, I would gladly step aside and allow you into my heart once more, if only you may do me the honor and pleasure."

Bilbo now touched his chest to Thorin's armor, he again questioned, "Covet?"

"And love," Thorin patiently answered, caressing Bilbo's bare shoulder blades.

"How can you covet something which was already yours'?" Bilbo leaned himself unto the heavy leather overcoat, his hands fiddling patiently along the golden lip of the pool as he stared up into Thorin's twinkling eyes.

"Simply, because I did not know burglars were so generous," Thorin whispered, again caressing the softness of Bilbo's arms as he held the seemingly perfectly small hobbit in his arms.

"Oh, I was a hobbit before I became employed as a burglar of sorts," Bilbo smiled shyly, he met Thorin's adoring gaze with a kiss on the cheek, "But changing my occupation does hold a certain appeal."

"And what line of work attracts you in this great empty kingdom of mine, wise sir hobbit?" Thorin inquired, his eyes again twinkling like a blue star set yonder yet so close Bilbo felt the heat on his skin.

"I was hoping you'd assign me a position, your Highness," Bilbo answered thoughtfully, the color rising in his cheeks as he realized what he had just said.

"Ah, we may be lacking in one particular area in Erebor, master Baggins, if you would arise to the challenge?" Thorin whispered playfully, his hands kneading softly upon the wet skin beneath his hands.

"For it, I am yours', your Highness," Bilbo stated, arising from the water alongside his lifelong sovereign, yet was halted by a hand upon his shoulder, he sat back as Thorin shed the leather overcoat, the heavy armor which thudded to the ground with an echo carrying along the emerald halls.

TBC-

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><p>the explicit version is on Ao3, or the link on my profile :)<p> 


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